Relieving Tension
by Ashvarden
Summary: Merle/Daryl. Rimming and dirty talk and the relieving of all that apocalypse-induced tension. Fill for twd kinkmeme prompt.


_A/N: Written for the twd_kinkmeme prompt over at LJ: "Merle rimming his brother against his will and a lot of dirty talking."_

_Growin' mighty sick of these woods_, Merle mused as he tromped through the forest south of the quarry camp. He'd give his left nut right about then if it ended the misery of swatting mosquitos, sweating through triple-digit heat waves, and (worst of all) tolerating human stupidity.

God, the people. Who would've figured surviving the apocalypse required brushing up on his social skills? And if that wasn't bad enough, keeping all the whiny fuckers alive was proving to be a full-time job.

At least he wasn't doing it single-handedly. He could see Daryl creeping through the trees ahead of him, calm but alert, mirroring the twists and turns of an overgrown game trail. His crossbow sat perched in the curve of his elbow. He was a hot mess, literally and figuratively, with dirt streaking his exposed arms and sweat plastering his hair into short, disheveled spikes.

Still, Merle knew a good ass when he saw one, and the firm flesh half-obscured by slouchy jeans definitely qualified. Just watching Daryl pad around in hunter mode was giving him a stiffy.

Now, that posed an important question. Would baby brother be willing to remedy the sizeable issue he was causing?

A guy's got needs, after all, and Daryl wasn't usually one to get 'tween Merle and his needs . . . even if he had been a prissy little bitch since they hooked up with other survivors at the quarry.

He was half-tempted to ask if baby brother'd turned into a nun on him. A nun with a crossbow, two tickets to the gun show, and a filthier mouth than most sailors, but still . . . chastity city up in here, folks. It was driving him batty.

If he heard, "There's people 'round here, jackass!" one more time while he was trying to score, he'd probably lose his shit and clock Daryl upside the head. Smart-mouthed little fucker was always trying to talk sense into him.

Right about now, good sense was the last thing he felt like he needed.

A little unwinding, though? Yeah, he could definitely use that. Lack of release through his usual methods had him tense and twitchy. He still had a baggie of grade A shit tucked away on the Triumph – crystal and X and all sorts of assorted prescription godsends – but he'd been rationing it ever since their sorry gaggle of survivors realized the world wasn't gonna put itself right again.

Up ahead Daryl paused, head cocked like a dog, crossbow drifting to point at the ground. He was paying his brother no mind, a rarity for someone as perceptive as Daryl.

With startling speed, Merle shoved Daryl against the nearest tree and trapped his arms jackrabbit-quick, then rested his full weight along the hunter's back, pinning him to the trunk.

Daryl's crossbow and the game collection tumbled to the ground as he squirmed and thrashed. "Lemme go, asshole!" he growled, bucking against Merle's form like a spooked bronco.

"Ah, c'mon baby brother," he crooned, releasing Daryl's arms and gliding his hands down to bracket jean-clad hips. He deftly deflected the elbow that Daryl tried to sink into his gut. "Don't be like that. Ol' Merle's just lookin' for a good time."

Merle ground his hips forward, letting Daryl feel just how much of a 'good time' he was already having.

"No fuckin' way," Daryl hissed. "There's people 'round—"

Merle was quick to derail his protests by mouthing at a patch of skin behind Daryl's ear. He tasted sweat and grit and sticky-bitter tree sap. Baby bro could use a wash. Then again, so could he.

After a few moments, he migrated higher to tug the closest earlobe, an action that wracked Daryl's frame with involuntary shivers. Stretching the hunter's hands up over his head, Merle pressed them flat against the tree trunk and rumbled, "Keep 'em there."

When Daryl stayed in position upon being released, he ruled it a success.

Next, he jammed a boot between his brother's feet to widen his stance. From there it was easy enough to pop the button on Daryl's jeans and drag the zipper down, to wriggle a broad hand past denim and elastic and faded black cotton. He curled his fingers around Daryl's cock, already at half-staff under his ministrations. Daryl keened low in his throat and bucked forwards into his brother's hand.

After a few firm strokes Merle dropped to his knees, dragging Daryl's jeans and boxers down along the way. He settled his palms against labor-corded thighs and stroked the flesh with a reverence few would believe him capable of.

"You got the best ass south of the Mason-Dixon, boy," he murmured, sliding his hands up to cup and spread said ass. "Could bounce a quarter off this thing."

"Shut your trap, Merle." Daryl's voice was tight; Merle could hear the blush in it. Boy never was good at taking compliments. "You gonna get me off or not?"

"You bet your pretty ass I am," Merle said, giving a raspy laugh. "Gonna fuck you open with my tongue, have you screamin' my name like there's no tomorrow."

He rocked back on his heels, startled, as Daryl suddenly came alive under his hands, twisting and lashing out blindly with a booted foot.

"What the fuck?" he yelped, smacking Daryl's leg off course. Last thing he wanted was a busted nose or split lip. "Quit your goddamn kickin'!"

"Uh uh, nope. You ain't lickin' my ass, man!" Daryl snapped. He quit trying to bash Merle in the face, though, so that counted as some sort of victory.

"Oh I'm not, am I? You'd rather get fucked dry? 'Cuz I'm fresh outta lube, brother. It's this or nothin'."

Daryl stood quiet for one, two, three beats. Then, grimacing like he was marching to his execution, he spun back towards the tree, bracing his arms against the trunk.

Taking this as permission, Merle elbowed Daryl's legs apart again and crowded closer. He didn't stop 'til his knees rested atop the bunched fabric of Daryl's jeans.

He grazed a thumb along the cleft, light but steady. After noting the way Daryl fidgeted under his hands, though, he growled a sharp, "Fuckin' hold still, would ya?"

Daryl – who was secretly a teddy bear and not the angry grizzly he'd convinced everybody at Camp Fucktard he was – stilled at his words, obeying reflexively.

Satisfied that Daryl wasn't going anywhere, Merle spread him open with his thumbs and ducked his head, swiping his tongue over the exposed hole. Blowing on the saliva-damp skin drew a twitch and a sharp inhale.

"Yeah, you like that lil' brother? Like my mouth all over you?" He punctuated his words by mouthing another swathe of sweat-slick skin.

He repeated the action at the small of Daryl's back and mouthed downwards, following the curve of his ass – full and firm, like a ripened peach.

Daryl's skin felt furnace-hot under his mouth, the perfect blend of salty and musky. He dipped his head lower still and went to work on Daryl's balls, rolling them carefully in his mouth and massaging them with his tongue.

Daryl's breathing stuttered. His fingers clenched against the tree, breaking loose little bits of bark. Still, Daryl clung stubbornly to his silence.

Merle pictured him biting down on the soft flesh of his lower lip, drawing blood, caging in the desperate moans. He pulled away long enough to murmur, "Go ahead an' make some noise, boy. I wanna hear you."

Daryl half-gasped, half-moaned in response as Merle flattened his tongue and rasped a broad stripe from Daryl's balls to the small of his back. He prodded at the hole with his tongue, then pressed a thick, blunt finger inside. It was soon joined by a second digit and plenty of saliva as he delved deeper, twisting and scissoring and crooking his fingers to coax Daryl's body open around him.

"Want me t'fuck you?" He tugged Daryl down to his knees in the dirt and wrestled his jeans and boxers completely off. Then, hastily unfastening his own belt and jeans, he squirmed out of them and slotted himself into position behind the younger man, chest to back and groin to ass.

"Nghhh." All the naked flesh pressed against him appeared to have short-circuited Daryl's capacity for coherent speech.

"That ain't an answer, boy," he huffed, lining his cock up with Daryl's hole all the same. He rubbed the blunt head against sensitized skin, flexing his grip on Daryl's midsection. His thumbs rode the contours of his brother's hipbones, pressed bruising-hard against thin skin.

"Yes," came the growled reply, raw and arousal-deepened.

Good enough. He pressed in slowly, reveling in the almost obscene way Daryl's body stretched to accommodate him. He grabbed a handful of ass, spreading it to watch his cock disappear. His brother's body was fuckin' magic; he was convinced of it as he saw and felt himself sinking deeper inch by inch.

Once he was seated balls-deep, he waited a few beats for Daryl to adjust. No one had ever seriously accused him of needing to compensate, and he was no sadist either. Especially not towards Daryl, who could lay claim to the only real soft spot he possessed.

Merle explored with his hands while he waited, mapping out firm stomach, scar-striped skin, the curved presence of his brother's ribcage. All the familiar lines and angles and marred perfection of Daryl's body, from the rounded cigarette burns on his collarbone to the faded evidence on his thigh of neighbor Cujo's rage when he was a toddler. Mama always did suck at keeping an eye on him.

"Y'good?" he rasped after what seemed like ages, but lasted probably only a few seconds.

"'Course 'm fuckin' not, it's like having a Coke can shoved up 'm ass. Just fuckin' move," Daryl gritted out through clenched teeth. "And a reach-around wouldn't hurt, jackass."

Merle rolled his eyes at his brother's snippiness but complied. He wrapped his fingers around Daryl's dick and started thrusting to match the rhythm of his hand, slow full strokes in and out, the head of his dick tugging at the rim every time he pulled back. Then he shifted his hips, catching just the right angle, and on the next in-stroke Daryl's whole body jerked, a harsh moan punched out of him.

"Yeah, right there innit lil' brother?" he panted against Daryl's sweat-slicked neck. "You like my big, thick cock stretching you open, don't ya, Dar? Gonna pound you so good, have you beggin' me to go harder, deeper, make you feel it for days."

He pumped his hips in time with his hand on Daryl's cock, drove his granite-hard length into Daryl repeatedly. Daryl clenched tight around every stroke. So. Fucking._Good._

He sank his teeth in at the nape, sucking hard and laving the skin with his tongue, as he felt the familiar tension start to coil in his belly.

Daryl's breath hitched at the sudden burst of pain. "Jesus Christ! You ain't a fuckin' tomcat, Merle!" Even as he protested, though, he was arching into the contact, letting Merle create first one bite, then another at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.  
Soon Daryl's hips were snapping forward beneath him. A guttural moan signaled his release as he spurted all over the ground, Merle's fist, and his own belly. "Merle!" he choked out, shaking with the strength of his orgasm.

Hearing his name in that tone was trigger enough to have Merle coming like a freight train, rutting erratically through his last couple thrusts. Afterwards he stilled, just reveling in the tight, all-encompassing heat of Daryl's body for a few beats, breathing raggedly against the bruised and bitten skin of his brother's neck.

Once he regained his breath he pulled free with a squelch, pearly strings of come connecting their bodies momentarily.

Daryl was still crouched on all fours in front of him, thighs spread wide for easy access – an opportunity too good to pass up. He circled his thumb over the loosened ring of muscle, swirling the slick mess there and doing his best to press it back inside. There was something intrinsically hot about baby brother chalk full of his jizz, so wet and fresh that it was still leaking down his thighs and painting the gap between his ass cheeks.

Daryl flinched under his touch, over-sensitized now. "Quit it," he grunted, sitting back on his haunches and grabbing at Merle's wrist. "Think you've played with my ass enough for one day."

Standing, Daryl fumbled his jeans and boxers up over his hips. His belt jingled as he buckled it with clumsy fingers. He accepted the crossbow when Merle handed it to him, moving automatically to check that the sights hadn't been jostled.

While he was distracted with his weaponry, Merle turned him 'round and surveyed his appearance with a critical eye. Sweaty, even more disheveled than usual, dark splotches of bruising beginning to darken along his throat . . . yeah, he was quite the picture. Daryl tilted his head up to reveal a puffy, blood-wet bottom lip. Impulsively, Merle leaned in and sucked on it, tasting the copper-harsh tang of blood. His kin's blood, the same blood that ran through his own veins. It triggered a weird sort of thrill; if he were ten, fifteen years younger he'd be hard again already.

When he moved to step back, Daryl snared him by the hair and hauled him in for a swift, mash-mouthed kiss. It was 90% tongue, a primal and savage battle of wills, but as always between the two brothers, Merle emerged triumphant. With a final nip at Daryl's plush bottom lip, he straightened up and tossed the string of game over his shoulder. Best get supper back to camp before the city folk started baying for food like a pack of rabid dogs.

He smacked Daryl on the ass and strode off in the direction of the quarry, moving with a sated, loose-limbed swagger. Lil' brother was the perfect tension relief. Oh yeah, just what he was needin'.


End file.
